


#41: Don't Make A Scene

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [41]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accusations, Ambiguous Relationship, Implied Relationships, Improv, Mission Fic, Verbal Abuse, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha calls for a distraction on a mission. Phil provides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#41: Don't Make A Scene

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where this fits in the context of Phil and Clint's relationship in this 'verse. So I've left the pairing tag off, because I think it's before they become a thing. Also, if you're worried about the abuse tag, see the note at the end.

“Guys, I can’t get close,” Natasha said over the comms. “I need a distraction.”

“On it.” Clint heard Phil respond before he had a chance. He was in the middle of being the dutiful waiter, offering a group of young women in various colors of skimpy cocktail dresses glasses of champagne while engaging in the flirting that was expected of him at this kind of shindig. Phil was in a sedan outside, monitoring comms and surveillance and ready to drive them off when they were done.

In Clint’s periphery he saw Natasha circulating through the room in a stunning gold dress and a dangerous pair of five-inch heels (seriously dangerous – she had a poison dart in one heel and a shiv in the other), playing up her cover as a socialite while she attempted to get close enough to the mark to lift the complicated piece of tech that Clint couldn’t remember either name or function of. They’d have had him do it (his pickpocketing skills were still sharp, not that he was exactly proud of it), but figured that Natasha might have a better chance of getting close, being female and beautiful. 

Their mark had surrounded herself with a gaggle of young men and women who were fawning over her with varying degrees of success. It had been an hour into what was supposed to be a quick snag and go, and Natasha hadn’t been able to get close enough, which was surprising, really. Clint wondered if maybe she was just enjoying herself and was taking her time. 

That, or the security around the mark was more well concealed than their intel had led them to believe. 

The slap came out of nowhere. It wasn’t hard; Coulson knew how to hit for maximum volume and shock value without causing damage. Nevertheless, Clint staggered, the tray of drinks in his hand wobbling dangerously. 

“How dare you,” Phil hissed. He’d ditched his suit jacket and loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He looked rumpled and tired, though Clint caught the gleam of mischief in his blue eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he said, louder, accusatory. 

“Hey, I’m at work, maybe,” Clint tried to protest, knowing that Phil could improv with the best of them, but wanting a little direction. 

A pair of Natasha’s silk stockings were flung at him. Oh-kay, he thought, catching the gist of where Phil was going to take this. Lover’s spat. Phil was stood close enough that the stockings managed to strike the front of Clint’s waistcoat before slithering to the floor. He’d owe Natasha a new pair for their loss. 

“It’s bad enough you cheated on me, but with a woman!” Phil spat, his voice slightly higher than normal, a bit of an affected accent creeping in, playing up to stereotypical expectations. 

“Babe, it’s not what you think,” Clint protested, taking a step back, purposefully making his tray waver so that the glasses clinked together. People were beginning to stare. Good.

“No?” Phil demanded. “Then what? Because I found those,” he spat, pointing, “in our bed.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Clint asked, putting a bit of whining protest into his voice. “I’m working, and you’re making a scene.”

“What do you mean, I’m making a scene? We wouldn’t have to do this here if you would talk to me. Now I know why you’ve been ‘working’ so hard.” Phil actually made air quotes around the word working. “All of those special late night parties for high class clients. What, you’re whoring yourself out on the side? Is that why you haven’t been coming home?”

“You can’t have it both ways,” Clint spat back. “Those can’t be from me if I’m never home. So which is it?” he demanded. He noticed that nearly everyone in the room was watching, some with amusement written on their faces, and others clearly uncomfortable but unable to look away. 

“You’re not home at night, but since I have a _real_ job that takes me out during the day, who knows what you’re getting up to in our bed,” Phil said angrily. 

“I have a real job!” Clint protested. “Just because I’m not slaving away for 10 hours a day in some office, cleaning up everyone else’s messes doesn’t mean I don’t have a real job.”

“Got it,” Natasha said over the comms. “Heading for exfil.”

Fuck. Clint wasn’t sure how they were supposed to get out of this. 

“Is that why you’re sleeping around? Because I work in some boring office?” Phil demanded. 

“I’m not sleeping around!” Clint roared.

And then their exit appeared in the form of hotel security and the catering manager. 

Once Clint had been fired and relieved of his tray of drinks, security escorted the two of them to the small holding room off the lobby. 

“Sir,’ the officer asked Clint. “Do you wish to press charges? We can call in the police.”

“No, it’s fine,” Clint said with a put upon sigh. “He gets like this sometimes. Are we free to go?”

“Yeah, but…” the security guard hesitated. He grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and scribbled something down. “Look, my sister runs this hotline for victims of same-sex domestic abuse,” he said, handing over the paper. “Y’know. When you’re ready for help.”

Clint bit the inside of his cheek. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He took his things that one of the other waiters brought in from the room they’d used to stash their things and turned to Phil. 

They left in silence, space between them as they walked. Neither spoke until they reached the car where Natasha waited. 

“Really, Coulson, you couldn’t have just pulled the fire alarm?” Clint asked.

**Author's Note:**

> Phil slaps Clint as he plays the cheated-upon partner. It escalates into a shouting match with slurs and verbal abuse, but there is no other physical abuse, and Clint enters the argument knowing what Phil's goals are.


End file.
